Flak
by Fionavar108
Summary: Based on the previews shown last night after S2 Ep1. Drabble. J/C.


"It's okay, Cameron," he hissed at her. "It's okay. You're broken, but we can fix you. I can fix you."

Something that could only be anger flared in her eyes, tears clearly visible through her sudden rage. "Fix me, John? Fix me?!"

She reached out and shoved him away from her. A casual push, but powered by a Terminator designed for battle. It sent John flying into the wall. Ignoring the look of disbelief in his eyes, she stalked away.

What had just happened? John thought, rubbing his buzz-cut hair confusedly. These weren't the actions of a Terminator seeking to … well, to terminate, but they weren't the actions of the Cameron he knew. One moment he was joking around with the new girl and the next moment, Cameron was by his side, staring at him, oblivious to Riley's puzzled look. And when he had finally stopped, excused them both and pulled Cameron aside, the first thing she had done was slap him. Not hard enough to bruise, but enough to sting. There was still a red mark on his face, he was sure of it.

And that brought him to the present.

#

_That afternoon_

"How was school today?" asked Sarah absentmindedly as she heard the door open.

In stomped Cameron, coldly, stiffly. "Your son has shit for brains," she said mechanically, before stomping off to her room.

Shocked, unable to stop herself from smiling despite the fact that a machine had just insulted her son, she could only call out toward her retreating back, "What did you expect? He's a teenaged boy, for god's sake!" She looked back toward the still-open door as John came in, out of breath.

"So," Sarah asked, this time with an eyebrow raised. "How was school today?"

"Uh. Good, I guess. Sure, yeah, good. Yeah, pretty good," he rambled. Realizing his mistake, he clamped his mouth shut, looked down at the ground and then mumbled, "I'm hungry. What's for dinner? Is there anything to eat? Nevermind, I'll go check." Not waiting for a reply he hurried into the kitchen.

Dinner that evening was a tense, odd affair. Derek generally just shoveled food into his mouth and Cameron rarely ate, her organic components needing minimal infusions of nutrients to stay maintained. That usually left Sarah and John to have a quiet conversation.

Instead, tonight, Derek … well, Derek still shoveled huge volumes of food into his gullet, but Cameron sat down, eating an entire portion, chewing her vegetables determinedly and staring at the meatloaf with a look of grim vengeance as if it, personally had insulted her ancestors. And John was reduced to one-word responses to his mother's attempts at conversation, instead repeatedly glancing at Cameron and looking away guiltily.

Abruptly, Cameron dropped her fork onto the plate in front of her with a clatter. Derek looked up. "That was satisfying. Thank you," she told Sarah. "Good night," she said to Derek. And ignoring John completely, she got up and left the table.

"Whatever you did wrong, apologize," Derek said.

"What?" John asked.

"She might be a tinhead piece of shit 'metal,'" Derek said. "But if there's one thing I recognize, it's the behavior of a pissed off woman. That … was as perfect a simulation as I've ever seen from a machine. And there's only one strategy that works in these situations," he said, looking his nephew in the eye, a slight smirk on his face. "Apologize, grovel, and gift her. I'm not saying she's human, but that's the only thing I can think of that might work. I remember this one time, my girlfriend caught me in bed with this …" SMACK

The sound of Sarah's hand cuffing him behind his head caused him to stop. "Hey, what was that … hey, there it is," he said, looking at John and pointing at Sarah. "You see? That's the expression. That's a pissed off woman!" SMACK "Hey! Cut it out. Hey, you gonna eat that?" SMACK "What? I'm just saying …"

Shaking his head, John stood up from the table and made his way to his room. Apologize, grovel and gift her, huh? He could do that. Eyes falling on the flak jacket that Cameron had once expressed interest in, he grabbed it, put it in a bag, and headed for her room.

Knocking on the door, he called softly, "Hey Cameron? Can I come in?"

The door abruptly swung open and he walked in, facing her. "Hey. Uh, look, I …" Cameron was wearing a tank top and dance tights. It showed off her form and was extremely distracting, and he had to shake his head to clear it and force his eyes up into hers. He could swear she had one eyebrow slightly raised, but when he looked again, her face was neutral again.

"Look, I was thinking, and I know what I said was wrong. You don't need fixing, I don't think of you as a 'thing' that I can just manipulate and tinker with, and I apologize," he said. "You know it was just a slip of the tongue, right? You know you're more to me than that …"

Cameron's expression seemed to soften a little, but she said nothing, continuing to look at him impassively. Rushing on, he continued, "And uh, well, I'm not sure why you slapped me earlier, but I know I was wrong, and if you'll just tell me whatever it was that I did … wrong ... I'm promise I'll never do … that again?"

With more frost in her voice than he thought possible, she said, "You were flirting with Riley."

"What? No! We were just talking, you know, about stuff. She's just a classmate, I swear!"

"She was stroking your arm, thrusting her breasts out, touching her hair and laughing at your jokes. Which were not funny. These are standard flirting behaviors of the average female. You were deepening your voice, inflating your chest, and broadening your stance as you invaded her 'personal space.' This is how a male flirts and indicates he is interested in mating with a female," she ground out.

Blushing furiously, knowing he was caught, he admitted, "OK, so maybe I was flirting a little and … and …" he stopped, realization beginning to dawn on him. "Cam, were you … jealous?"

"Yes."

"Oh," he said, startled at how easily and casually she admitted it. Then he noticed a faint hint of color. "Are you blushing?"

"No," she said, looking away.

Smiling, he moved forward, more confidently. "Cam. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you jealous, and I won't do it again. You have nothing to be jealous of. Ever. With any girl."

Looking at him, she analyzed blood pressure, body temperature and eye movements. Then she looked at the smile on his face. Deciding he was telling the truth, she smiled. "I'm sorry," he repeated. Sarah's words from that afternoon floated to the surface of her thoughts: "What did you expect? He's a teenaged boy," she had said. Cameron had watched much television and observed human behavior in school as well, and Sarah was right. Adolescent males seemed to act without thought, governed more by elevated levels of hormones than rational thought. It was unreasonable, she decided, to expect John to be different. Or at least, completely different.

"I apologize as well," she said, a gentle smile staying on her face. "What are you holding behind your back?"

"Oh! Uh, well, I wanted to give you something besides an apology, and well, you said it was tight, so I thought you would like it and, uh … here," he finished, opening the bag and pulling out the flak jacket. Immediately he knew he had done something wrong. Again.

Her face suddenly a blank again, she said, "That's correct. This is tight. Thank you, John. I accept your apology."

"Uh, OK. You're welcome?" he said.

"You may leave now," she added.

"Oh! Great, uh, so, I'll just, leave you alone and uh, go," he said, leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

Looking at the flak jacket, she signed internally. It was a nice present, she knew. And he was right, she had expressed approval of it as a good present. It was practical—something you gave to somebody you expected to face gunfire and explosive devices. Something you might give to a soldier. Or a Terminator superstrong bodyguard.

But it certainly was not what you gave to a girl you were interested in dating.

Meanwhile, John had just entered the room when the same thought hit him and he figured it out. Slapping his forehead, he had only one word to use for this situation. "D'oh!"

#

_1:30 a.m._

It took John 20 minutes to slowly open his window so it wouldn't make a sound to even Cameron's sensitive ears, and another 10 minutes gingerly easing his body outside to sneak out.

Stealthily sneaking out onto the street, he let out a breath only when he was a block away, and then he began walking briskly to a nearby convenience store. Going inside, he took nearly 15 minutes to make his selection before walking up to the cash register to pay the indifferent clerk.

Walking outside, he jumped back a few inches as he nearly ran into Cam, standing there in her standard nighttime garb: tank top, pajama pants, and—incongruously—pink fuzzy bunny slippers.

"Cam! Geez, you scared the heck out of me. What are you doing here?"

Cocking her head to one side, she said, "I heard you leave your room so I followed you to protect you."

"Why, uh, why didn't you just come in?"

"You appeared to be practicing your stealth skills. I wished to encourage you," she replied.

"Oh. Uh, thanks," he said. "Well, since you're here, uh, these are for you," he said, holding up a bouquet of roses he had just purchased.

"You already gave me a present," she said. "There is no need for this."

"Yeah, well, I already paid for them, so they're yours now. I was thinking about it, and I realized a flak jacket—while a 'tight' present—didn't really seem to be appropriate for what I was trying to say," he said. "So … here." He thrust the deep red flowers a little more nervously at Cameron, who had made no move to take the bouquet.

Cameron reached for the flowers. "They smell … floral," she noted, a small smile appearing on her face. "Red roses," she noted. "Red roses are what a man generally gives to a woman to indicate romantic intentions or feelings, are they not?"

Scratching his head, he squirmed. "Yeah, they are," he admitted, peering at her shyly.

"Thank you. I accept," she said, her sudden smile nearly blinding him with its brightness. She leaned in for a kiss and then grabbed his arm. "We should go home. It is late and you have an exam in the morning. You will require sleep to perform optimally."

"Thanks Cam," he said, relaxing for the first time in hours. As they headed back, she wrapped her arm around his waist possessively and leaned her head on his shoulder. And he didn't mind at all.


End file.
